


Magic McCree

by Cawaiiey



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Barebacking, Creampie, Dirty Talk, Fake slut shaming, I GUESS THAT DOESNT MATTER ITS PORN ENJOY IT, I guess? Let me know if thats not specific enough or what the tag should be, M/M, So Jesse calls Hanzo a slut at some point, Someone said to be more specific about the dirty talk, Stripper!McCree, dick piercings, i guess idk, i listened to pony by ginuwine and this is the monster that came from it, maybe the club is called overwatch idk, overwatch isnt like a thing in this so, real life au?, slight praise kink, there's porn tho and my attempt at like male stripper, there's some backgrounder reaper76, theres also some hinted at genyatta tho it could be read as otherwise, this is literally a play on Magic Mike okay, this was meant to be a pwp look what happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 20:11:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8115829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cawaiiey/pseuds/Cawaiiey
Summary: Hanzo Shimada does not want to be here, he does not like strip clubs and never has. And Genji is wrong, he does not need to 'get laid', no matter how long this dry spell has lasted. He knows he'll regret being here tonight, and he needs a drink. And the tall glass of water clad in plaid that just bumped into him could be what cures his thirst.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Magic McCree](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10707660) by [wanderingstar37](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingstar37/pseuds/wanderingstar37)



> OKAY THIS IS A MONSTER OF A FIC. 15,000+ WORDS. I did not mean for it to get this long, it was meant to be a PWP and look what happened. Stop me.
> 
> I busted this out in like three days so I'm sorry if there are any typos or grammar errors, I don't have a beta. 
> 
> THIS IS COMPLETELY INSPIRED BY MAGIC MIKE AND THE SONG PONY BY GINUWINE OKAY. I'm sorry beforehand.
> 
> I HOPE YOU LIKE STRIPPER MCCREE CUZ THIS FIC IS FULL OF IT.
> 
> Also, the two songs featured in here are Often by the Weeknd and Pony by Ginuwine. Give them a listen if you wanna try and imagine what McCree is doing to each of the beats. 
> 
> ENJOY!!
> 
> EDIT 9/23/2016: A reader left a comment saying I should have been more specific about the dirty talk, so I added a tag for that! Sorry to anyone that did not like McCree calling Hanzo a slut, I truly did not mean anything by it.
> 
> EDIT 12/9/2017: took out the instance where an audience member shouts "i have y*ll*w f*v*r" at Hanzo. I've seen multiple complaints about it and I understand it isn't particularly relevant to the story. So removed! :) thank you all for understanding!

Hanzo Shimada could think of at least fifty different things that he could be doing tonight that would be more productive and far more enjoyable than the situation that he had been thrust into tonight. For instance, he could be _sleeping_ or _working_ or even _dying_ and he would be having a better time than what he was doing right now, which was being jostled about by drunk clubbers as he fought his way over to the bar area of the strip joint his brother had dragged him to.

That’s right. _A strip club_ . And not only that, but a _male strip club_.

Hanzo knew he was much too old to be in a place like this, but he hadn’t been able to do much else but offer scathing protests as Genji forced him to join his caravan of cohorts to this, frankly, _disgusting_ establishment. But it wasn’t like it was a poorly designed place or a filthy building, but the premise of why individuals were here was why it was so disgusting. Rather, Hanzo quite liked the decor, even if it was difficult to see in the dim lighting. The floor, albeit sticky, was a gorgeous pattern of burgundy and black, and it paired nicely with the walls, which, from what he could see, were mainly wine colored with a black filigree pattern decorating them. Elegant, for a place such as this. Chairs surrounded the well-lit stages scattered throughout the floor, which were all mostly occupied by patrons, who were throwing bills on the scantily clad men gyrating against poles protruding from their stage up to the high ceiling. Center stage was dark and empty, a stark contrast to the beacons that he was avoiding. The strippers that weren’t on stages were entertaining customers splayed across plush lounge loveseats on the outskirts of the main floor, flirting and grinding on them, with bills tucked into underwear so small, that left so little to the imagination, that they shouldn’t even be thought of as an actual _garment_.

He made it a point not to look at any of the various exotic dancers, though he was tempted to.

Hanzo wasn’t an idiot. He knew why his brother had brought him here- _and, damn it, where the HELL was that ungrateful brat_ \- and he did not appreciate the insinuation. He was not like Genji, he did not want to go out and sleep around and get plastered or party with strangers, and a strip club was not his idea of a good time. But, when Genji gave him those puppy dog eyes and pouted, he couldn’t say no, especially after they had only just reconciled after a falling out in their youth. Now Hanzo was over thirty, approaching the next decade of his life, with salt and pepper strands threading through his hair, and no desire to be here, amongst sleazy individuals and young dancers looking to make their rent for the month.

With a bit of finessing, Hanzo wove his way through the crowd, keeping an eye out for a flash of green hair or any of Genji’s entourage (he figured he could at least locate someone as out-of-place as the Nepali monk that Genji had taken to, but they were nowhere to be find) as he made his way over to the bar. Decorated with sleek granite and cherrywood, and backlit with bright fluorescents, it was a veritable oasis in this desert that Hanzo was trapped in, and he wanted nothing more than a burning drink to dull the throbbing that has begun behind his eyelids.

The bartender, an attractive dark-skinned man with a fuzzy black goatee and scars decorating his visage, glances up when Hanzo approaches, and nods in his direction, an inquisitive eyebrow cocked in question. He raises one hand in greeting, and the man makes his way over to take Hanzo’s order.

“I need something strong,” Hanzo shouts over the thumping music deafening him, trying to be heard over the din. The bartender nods in understanding and walks away for a moment, mixing up a cocktail that Hanzo half-hopes will knock him out for the rest of the night, before returning to give him the poison he desperately craved. Hanzo places a twenty on the counter and takes a drink, reveling in the delightfully icy heat that sears his throat. The bartender gives him an appraising look and a grin before pocketing the cash and moving on to other patrons. Alcohol burning the pit of his stomach, Hanzo turns to resume his search for his brother-

And smacks straight into a chest hidden by a plaid flannel.

The dark-haired man curses, managing to not spill his beverage, and steps back to press against the granite of the bar. The person he’d run into’s hands are reaching out to steady him, grasping his biceps through the silky material of the slate-colored button down he has on. Hanzo shakes the stranger’s hands off of him, wanting nothing to do with an _idiot_ who couldn’t even watch where they were going. And, okay, he could admit that he was in a nasty mood already, but, honestly, people should learn to pay _attention_. A sneer curls his lips as he jerks his head up to reprimand the offending individual, but all words die on his tongue when he locks eyes with the man in front him.

Rugged is the best way to describe this man, and it’s the first word that pops into Hanzo’s head, followed quickly by _fucking attractive_ . The man has a Stetson on, resting on top of wild oaken locks that frame his face on either side. His lips are parted in a wide, practically lascivious grin, which Hanzo thinks he should be irritated at, but the whites of his teeth are dazzling and he finds he’s not mad in the slightest. Stubble surrounds his smile, looking dark and _dangerous_ , and a trimmed, taken care of goatee that leads into a more sparse beard stands out against the five o’clock shadow. The beard accentuates his cut jawline, which Hanzo drags his eyes over appreciatively, making a stark contrast between his face and his wide neck. The shorter man stares at the way that the Adam’s apple in front of him bobs, vaguely aware of the noise that was meant to catch his attention. It’s only when the other man makes that noise again does Hanzo whip his head up to catch the other’s gaze once more.

Wide amber eyes stare down at him, illuminated by the fluorescents of the bar behind Hanzo, and they are looking at him with what looks like amusement. Hanzo feels a flash of irritation bite through the fog of the instantaneous attraction he felt to the man in front of him, and he schools his expression of shock into one of annoyance, hoping to cow the other man into leaving him alone- though, he has a distinct feeling he won’t mind if he doesn’t leave.

The taller man’s grin only widens.

Hanzo’s eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, surprised when his normal ‘death glare’ doesn’t send this stranger packing. In fact, he seems more… wolfish. Predatory. _Dangerous_ . Hanzo takes a long drink, looking for some sort of escape, when there’s suddenly a large, warm hand on his shoulder, and the rugged man tips his hat in greeting. Hanzo follows the movement with his eyes narrowed, shrugging his shoulder to get the other’s paw off of him. Even being the most attractive thing that he’s seen in years, this _is_ a strip club, and this man looks exactly like someone who knows how attractive they are and uses it as an excuse to be a sleaze. The dark-haired man half expects this stranger to grab his shoulder again, but he is pleasantly surprised when he doesn’t, instead stepping away to give Hanzo some space. He holds his hands up in mock surrender, and shouts at Hanzo over the din of the strip club.

“Sorry about that, darlin’, wasn’t watchin’ where I was going,” Hanzo can hear a country twang in the other’s voice, though he’s more interested in how deep, rich, and smooth this stranger’s voice is, and how it soothes Hanzo’s rustled feathers with every syllable, “though, gotta say, can’t think of anyone in this here joint I’d rather bump into, seein’ as yer the prettiest thing about.” The shorter man feels his skin start to burn at the compliment, along with the overwhelming desire to hide his face, unused to this sort of attention. He’s been out of the dating game for so long, and his ‘resting bitch face’, as Genji so lovingly calls it, usually deters any sort of suitor from flirting with him. Apparently this cowboy didn’t get the memo, or, perhaps he was into that sort of thing? Hanzo wasn’t able to think about it for long, as the other man is extending a hand forward in an offer for a handshake.

Hanzo eyes the appendage warily, letting his gaze wander from the big hand (his mind supplies what big hands mean to him- he tries not to linger on the delectable thought), up along the sun-kissed caramel skin of his muscled forearm, gracing the clothed bicep- that is nicely thick too, and the plaid hugs those curves _so well_ \- then dragging across broad shoulders and a barrel chest that Hanzo imagines is hairy under the wrapping of plaid, and follows down the other arm in an opposite path. His tongue feels thick in his mouth. Hanzo turns to place his drink on the bar behind him to free his hands up. The stranger’s smile has only gotten bigger as Hanzo went about eyeing him, and the shorter man burns under that half-hooded amber gaze, sticking his hand forward to shake with the cowboy.

His hand is big, calloused, those digits thick, and he can’t stop imagining himself at their _mercy_.

They shake for a moment, and the man introduces himself in that sinful voice, “name’s Jesse, hon, and what do I call someone as pretty as you other than ‘angel’?”

“Call me Hanzo,” he replies, feeling the flush on his cheeks spread down his neck in a flustered heat. The man in front of him, Jesse, is still holding onto his hand, and he’s grinning, and Hanzo cannot pull himself away. Maybe Genji was right, it _had_ been too long, a dry spell had to end someday. And Jesse looked like the perfect drink to satisfy his thirst, yet, Hanzo feels as though he’s floundering in his ability to accurately convey his attraction. Flirting never had been his strong suit; that was always Genji. No, he was raised as the model son, and, even now, he’d never been a smooth talker nor had he ever had a way with words.

“Hanzo,” Jesse says slowly, rolling the name around in his mouth, “I like the sound of that. So, Hanzo, what brings you to this fine establishment? Lookin’ for someone?” That grin is terrifying and enticing all at once. Hanzo gulps, hoping he isn’t coming off as a sleaze that came here because he couldn’t get any normally, and had to resort to paying individuals for the privilege of being rutted on. He finally manages to pull his hand away from Jesse’s grasp and rocks back on the balls of his feet, shifting in his nicely fitted slacks. While he didn’t want to be here in the first place, he’d be damned if he didn’t show up dressed infinitely better than most anyone else in the entire building. A charcoal grey, silk, long-sleeved button down with the top button undone to show off a bit of his chest, hair tied up with a tarnished gold silk ribbon, wearing a loose silver chain around his neck, with his shirt tucked into his black slacks that hugged his rear and accentuated his long legs, down to his silver and black oxfords; it all made him look like an accomplished businessman. One who definitely didn’t belong here.

“No, I am not,” he answers curtly, leaving no room for questioning, though he notices the way the other’s shoulders fall a bit, and he is quick to correct himself, “rather, not here. I was dragged here by my brother, who has disappeared since we arrived. He insists I need to,” Hanzo takes a shuddery breath, licking his lips that are suddenly dry, and notices the hungry look in Jesse’s eyes as they follow the swipe of his tongue, “uh, ‘get laid’.” It embarrasses him to even say it out loud.

Jesse doesn’t say anything for a long time, his smile dropping as he stares at him.

The silence between the two of them is only broken when the other man throws his head back with a booming laugh, startling not only Hanzo but the people around them, who turn to look at him with wide eyes, before shuffling away from the pair. Hanzo feels the overwhelming desire to clamp his hand over the other man’s mouth just to _shut him up_ , as his laughter was drawing attention to the both of them. He restrains himself though, burning as Jesse got his giggles out. The cowboy pretends to wipe tears from his eyes, before he moves to grab at Hanzo’s hand again.

The shorter man lets himself be manhandled, his brows knitting in confusion as Jesse takes a sharpie out of his pocket and pops the cap off with his teeth, and, suddenly, he’s scrawling something on the skin of Hanzo’s inner wrist. He has half a mind to rip his hand away from the taller man when, just as quickly as his hand had been snatched up, it’s dropped and Jesse is capping the sharpie with a proud grin. The cowboy, with hands shoved into his pocket, nods towards the other’s wrist, prompting him to look at what he’d wrote. Hanzo, with uncertainty still plastered across his face, lifts his hand to stare dumbfoundedly at 10-digits scrawled in blue on his skin, with the word ‘Jesse’ below it, a heart next to that.

“What.” Is all he has a mind to say, unable to process what just happened. He presses his fingers to the ink, brows still furrowed while he tilts his head to look over at Jesse, who honestly could not be smiling wider. The man takes a step forward, extricating one hand from his pocket to hook a finger under Hanzo’s chin, pushing his head up a bit so Hanzo has nowhere to look other than into amber pools that he wants to _drown_ in.

“Well, sugar, seein’ as this don’t happen to you often, lemme explain,” Jesse says breathily, and Hanzo is bracing himself against the cool granite behind him, feeling his stomach twist with nervous anticipation, “that there,” he makes it a point to glance over at Hanzo’s hand, “is my number. Yer funny, the hottest thing these eyes have ever seen, and I’d like to get to know ya better, maybe take care of that dry spell for ya,” his chuckle shakes Hanzo to the core, and if he wasn’t attracted to Jesse before (which he was, _oh god_ , he was), he was practically _magnetized_ to him now, “now, as much as I’d love to stay an’ _really_ get to know ya, I gotta bounce. If yer still here at the end of the night, come find me,” Hanzo is about to nod enthusiastically when Jesse leans down and nips at his earlobe, drawing a gasp from his lips, “I’ll show you a _good_ time, Hanzo.”

Then, just as soon as it’d happened, Jesse was parting from his space and sauntering away, nicely fitted blue jeans showing off an ass Hanzo suddenly found himself wanting to get a handful of. His mouth gaped like a fish out of water, and he was definitely out of his element here, yet, somehow, even not having a single _clue_ what he was doing, he’d managed to get an attractive man’s number. And said attractive man wanted to see him at the end of the night. Said attractive man wanted to _take care of his dry spell_.

Hanzo grabbed his drink and downed it in one gulp. He’d need all the courage he could get, liquid or otherwise.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Just as Hanzo was polishing off a third drink, having switched from ones with strength to fruity cocktails, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He whipped around, almost sloshing the neon pink concoction onto his shirt, expecting Jesse to be behind him, but it was only his brother, who was grinning with his entourage behind him, all at various levels of drunkenness. Hanzo’s eyes narrowed and his smile fell immediately, which Genji was quick to notice. His eyes narrowed playfully and he leaned forward, although that jostled a rather tipsy Nepali monk that was using him as a support. Hanzo notices the way his brother’s arm tightens around Zenyatta’s waist and files that away to mention later.

“Oh,” Genji hollers over the loud music, the mischievous glint in his eyes intensifying as he watches Hanzo move to hide his wrist, “were you expecting someone else?” His Cheshire grin is too close, and Hanzo has to avert his eyes immediately from his sibling, ignoring his question by taking another drink of his cocktail. Genji doesn’t seem to forget it, though he, surprisingly, lets it slide. _For the moment_ , Hanzo is sure, knowing he’ll be fully questioned at a later point in time. His brother, with his spiked green hair, uses the hand that isn’t rubbing circles into Zenyatta’s hip through his robes to grab onto Hanzo’s sleeve, tugging him over so he can whisper in his ear.

“Aniki,” he says in a sing-song tone- _that can’t be good_ , not that nickname and not with that tone- close enough that only Hanzo can hear him, “there’s something I want you to see, it’s why we came here tonight.” The elder Shimada narrows his eyes at his sibling, about to refuse, but then the lights of center stage turn on and Hanzo is blinded momentarily by the sudden burst of light after being submerged in the dim for so long. He blinks spots from his eyes, a bit disoriented, and finds that he’s being dragged towards center stage by his brother, stumbling through the crowd that is surging towards the stage. He complains, tries to yank his hand away, but, even if he wasn’t being led by his brother’s vice grip, the people are like a wave, pushing him towards the stage whether or not he wanted to be there.

People are hooting, hollering, wolf-whistling, and Hanzo’s headache is starting to press forward past the slightly inebriated fog that has blanketed his mind. He presses a finger to his temple, silently seething and cursing his brother and the club-goers and the owner’s of the establishment and _the Gods themselves_ , and he’s just about to start grumbling when a man takes the stage.

He saunters forward, and the crowd goes wild, including Genji, loudly shouting out encouragement, as Hanzo squints to take in the man’s features.

He’s tall, very tall, and he commands the stage with a presence that Hanzo has never felt before. Authoritative, he draws the eye, much like the clothes that he has on. His blond hair is slicked back, a few tufts breaking free of the gel to hang over his forehead, and, from here, Hanzo can make out that his jaw is quite chiseled, though not many other facial features stand out, save for a prominent nose set in the center of his face. The man holds up two black gloved hands, his long cobalt blue jacket sweeping behind him with every step he takes forward. Other than the jacket, he wears a tight black turtleneck and nicely fitted tan pants, tucked into tall cobalt boots laced with black shoelaces. Every step he take is measured, predatory, and the music has softened with his presence. He holds up a microphone and, with a grin and a sweep of his hand, he speaks, his deep, slightly raspy voice quiets everyone in the vicinity with its power.

“Good evening, everyone,” he booms over the speaker system, “thank you for coming. We’re very glad to have you tonight, as always,” the statement is met with a raucous cheer, which he silences with a raise of his hand, “now, our main event tonight is a regular, and a crowd favorite. He enjoys lassoing hearts left and right, and he’s sure to give you the ride of your life, just be careful. There’s news on the town that he’s quite the bucking bronco,” the joke is met with laughter and a few individuals shouting that they’d take on the challenge. Hanzo wants to leave. Genji is shaking hia arm with vigor, almost knocking the older sibling over with his intensity.

“Please, join me in welcoming our sexy guest to the stage, everyone, give it up for Magic McCree!” The blond hollers, and the stage lights suddenly cut out, thrusting the club into darkness, and a hush falls over the crowd.

At first, everything is silent. The club is under a spell, and not a single soul dares to move, to make a noise, to even breathe. Then, one by one, lights flicker on center stage, a pole protruding from dead center, and the crowd- Hanzo included- is spellbound to watch as a man’s silhouette comes into view. He’s not facing the crowd, as far as he can tell, though he’s wearing a hat and has a holster on, and his profile boasts broad shoulders, wide hips, and long legs. Hanzo squints, a niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach, wondering who this mystery entertainer could be, when the lights finally come on completely.

Bathed in red fluorescents, an attempt at mood lighting, is a man who is not facing the crowd. Rather, he is looking towards the back of the club, and all Hanzo can make out is his outfit; a Stetson on his head, and a red and black plaid shirt that looks oddly familiar, his trousers slung low on his hips, though he seems to have a belt on, with _godforsaken_ chaps on, and what looks like the gleam of spurs on his boots. This man- ‘McCree’, they called him- was dressed like an honest-to-god _cowboy_ . Hanzo is bewildered and, if he didn’t want to leave before, he _definitely_ wants to leave now.

The music starts up again with a low buzz, lasting for a few moments before the beat drops, the bass shaking Hanzo to the core while the man on stage begins to swing his hips from side to side. His hands are moving in front of his body- doing what, Hanzo can only assume, but he guesses that he is unbuttoning the plaid shirt- as vocals join the bass line reverberating from the speakers.

_Ooh ya, ooh ya, ooh ya, ooh ya, ooh ya._

The man throws the shirt to the side as the lights switch from red to a dark violet, and Hanzo watches as the stage lights highlight the valleys and plateaus of a nicely muscled back. The man looks oddly familiar, for some reason, and Hanzo wonders where he’s seen this person before.

_Ooh ya, ooh ya, ooh ya, ooh ya, ooh ya._

Hanzo leans forward, a bit more interested than before, and stares as the man on stage grabs the pole in front of him and begins to haul himself up it, his back muscles and biceps rippling with every movement. The sight is _enticing_. His mouth is a little dry.

_Ooh ya, ooh ya, ooh ya, ooh ya, ooh ya._

The man hooks his thighs around the metal rod and begins to spin lazily down the pole, and the lights give him a flash of a slightly familiar visage with every rotation. He’s making his way past the other starstruck people to stand closer to the stage, determined to figure out who this dancer is. The feeling in the pit of his stomach is intensifying more and more with every passing moment.

_Ooh ya, ooh ya, ooh ya, ooh ya, ooh ya._

Hanzo reaches the front right as the other man hits the floor with his boots, facing the crowd fully now, and he swings one leg around the pole to stand in front of it, gripping the rod with both hands behind his back and grinning wolfishly. A _very_ familiar face comes into Hanzo’s view, and he ends up stuck in place as the dancer starts to shimmy his hips while dropping into a squat.

Rugged is the best way to describe this man, and it’s the first word that pops into Hanzo’s head, followed quickly by _no fucking way_ . There, in front of him, in front of _everyone_ is Jesse- ‘Magic McCree’- actually _stripping_ for the crowd and looking like he thoroughly enjoys every second that eyes are on him. Hanzo’s jaw practically hits the floor as the man rolls his hips provocatively towards the crowd, head tilted up while he stares at the club-goers with hooded eyes. Even though he knows he’s just a part of the collective, Hanzo cannot help covering his lower face with his mouth as his cheeks start to _burn_.

_I usually love sleeping all alone, this time around bring a friend with ya._

Jesse keeps one hand on the pole and extends the other forward, beckoning the throng of attendees, and they all lean forward, dragged along on invisible strings. The movement shoves Hanzo even closer to the stage, and Hanzo braces himself to avoid being swayed any more. He cannot rip his gaze away from the dancer on stage- and he finds he really doesn’t want to, anyways. The people around him holler and whistle as Jesse drags his hand down his chest, which is just as hairy and chiseled as Hanzo imagined it. His mouth is dry.

_But we ain't really going to sleep at all. You ain't gonna catch me with them sneak pictures_

‘Magic McCree’ has the crowd entranced by his movements. The club-goers make lewd comments and noise and are generally being filthy, but Hanzo ignores it all to watch Jesse as he hovers his hand above his crotch and pistons his hips upward with every beat of the song for a measure. Hanzo’s breath catches in his throat, his fingers twitch, and he finds himself hardening in his slacks. The shame he feels is suffocating as he realizes he’s acting like a horny teenager, lusting after someone like this, someone who was flirting with him not even an hour prior. Jesse might have only been teasing him, for all he knew, though he doesn’t want that to be true. He wants to leave, to get out of this situation, but he finds himself pinned in place when Jesse’s eyes find him in the crowd.

_In my city I'm a young God, that pussy kill be so vicious_

That grin widens, and then Jesse is lazily rolling his hips as he stands fully, letting go of the pole behind him so he can unbuckle the belt around his hips, not that they were holding his pants up very well. The belt is flung to the side, and then the pole is back within the cowboy’s grasp, his hips rolling in _sinful_ ways towards the metal rod. Jesse won’t stop staring at Hanzo, though he can’t decipher the look he’s being given from this far away. He imagines those pupils are blown wide, that this dance is only for him, and it makes it easier to give in, enthralled with the cowboy’s performance. Although he is at the front of the throng, he feels like he’s not close enough. He’s never been into strippers, or into voyeurism, or dirty dancing, as far as he’s known (but his experience with sex has been few and far between, and woefully vanilla, so who is he to say he wasn’t into these things before?), yet he’s definitely sure he’s into them now. Or maybe he’s only into Jesse, seeing as he didn’t feel this magnetic pull with any of the other dancers on the floor. Regardless of the reason why, the room feels stiflingly hot. Hanzo tugs at the collar of his suddenly too tight dress shirt.

_My God white, he in my pocket. He get me redder than the devil 'til I go nauseous_

Jesse is climbing the pole once more, his absurdly strong arms flexing with every movement, and Hanzo wants to feel them tense under his fingertips. The cowboy swings one leg around the pole while grabbing the other with his hand, one hand holding him up on the metal rod, as he goes into some sort of mid-air splits. The crowd goes _wild_ , throwing dollar bills onto the stage and hollering at him. Jesse drinks in the attention, grabbing the pole with both hands and swinging both legs around the pole before he spreads them in opposite directions, touching the tips of his toes to the pole. He’s very _flexible_ . Hanzo gapes, digging his fingers into his palm to derail the train of thought that his mind is on, supplying him with detailed fantasies of what flexibility could be used for, or what those arms could do, and he’s going insane from simply _watching_.

_Ask me if I do this every day, I said, "Often."_

Jesse is pointedly looking at Hanzo, gauging his reactions, and the shorter man chokes back a noise, snapping his mouth shut to try and look annoyed. He has a distinct feeling that he’s failing, seeing as the cowboy on stage grins before he brings his legs back together and swings them around, causing him to rapidly rotate and slip down the pole. The further he slides down the rod, the more he straightens out, until his boots hit the floor. Eyes still on Hanzo, he tilts his head up, one hand holding the Stetson on his head and the other hooked in the belt loops of his trousers, and mouths the last word of the lyric that plays overhead. Then he drops to the floor, both knees hitting the stage, with one hand on the floor, keeping him propped up. His hips roll in a slow, languid fashion, like he was-

_Ask how many times she rode the wave—"Not so often."_

And his eyes are still on Hanzo as he gives two short thrusts of his hips at the end of that lyric. There’s likely hunger in those amber pools, and Hanzo wants him so badly. Jesse switches position, pivoting on the hand that he has on the floor to swing his legs forward until he’s on his knees and leaning back with his chest facing skyward. His legs are spread, the same hand keeping him pushed up, and he starts to roll his hips upward in smooth thrusts. The strength behind the movements would feel so _hard_ and _deep_ -

_Bitches down to do it either way, often, Baby I can make that pussy rain, often_

Hanzo hasn’t felt this type of desire for someone in _years_. Between the alcohol flowing through his system, the violet fluorescent lights, the deafening sound of the music and the crowd, and, of course, the insanely attractive man that’s dancing on stage, Hanzo feels completely overwhelmed and incapable of handling everything that’s happening. The only thing keeping him grounded in this situation is the fact that, throughout this entire performance, Jesse’s eyes have only been on him. He’s entranced by the sight in front of him, and loses himself to the routine as Jesse gyrates and spins and climbs the pole, hips rolling, legs spreading, getting into the rhythm. He doesn’t even realize the performance is ending until the last lyric blasts overhead.

_Make that pussy poppin', do it how I want it. Often_

The music blurs into an amalgamation of the bass line and the tenor vocals, until it fades out completely, and Jesse is standing in center stage, breathing heavily and noticeably sweaty under the stage lights. The club-goers around him all scream their delight and throw various bills onto the stage, and Jesse’s grin is terrifyingly brilliant as the lights brighten from violet to white. He tips his hat at the crowd (Hanzo distinctly hears someone scream ‘fuck me!’ behind him), and saunters forward, the sound of his spurs jingling with every step. Hanzo finds himself wanting to shrink back, away into the crowd, to escape, because Jesse is still looking at him. Even as the blond announcer comes back onstage and hypes the crowd up more, Jesse is staring at him, even as Jesse takes the microphone from the other man, Jesse will not look away, and even as he brings the piece of tech to his lips, Jesse keeps Hanzo pinned with his gaze.

“Thank y’all for coming out tonight,” he says breathily into the mic, voice deep and laden with filthy promises, and it feels like he’s speaking only to Hanzo, “I hope y’all enjoyed that performance by lil’ ol’ me, I know I enjoyed dancin’ for y’all,” he winks, Hanzo feels his stomach twist nervously, “now, I know I usually give y’all an entire night of performances, but, I’m feelin’ mighty tuckered out,” his tone is so erotic, thick and sweet as honey, though his words are met with displeased groans from the crowd, “so, instead, lemme give y’all one last lil’ dance. ‘Cept, Imma need an audience partner to help me out with this one.”

Hanzo’s throat seizes up as the audience surges forward, the people around him all clamoring to be the one Jesse chooses to be the ‘audience partner’. He knows, though, already, who Jesse is going to pick, if the way he’s stalking towards him is any indication. Those eyes still haven’t left his, and, suddenly, there’s a big hand being extended to him as Jesse drops into a crouch. Hanzo wants to tell him no, to insist he does not want to be up there, the center of attention and, likely, the object of envy, but he’s rendered helpless when Jesse speaks into the mic again, that baritone coaxing him to reach his hand out and take Jesse’s.

“An’ I think I found myself the most perfect angel to dance with,” he says, hoisting Hanzo up onto the stage and away from the people who are grabbing at him with greedy hands. He turns to stare at the crowd, hand still clasped in Jesse’s, and suddenly feels very self-conscious, as the people are either wolf-whistling or loudly complaining, calling him ‘lucky’, though he feels anything but under the hot stage lights and everyone’s gaze. He can distinctly hear his younger brother yelling like a madman, saying things like, “holy shit, that’s my brother! My brother is up there with Magic McCree! My brother is about go get a lap dance from Magic McCree! Holy shit!” Hanzo’s face feels like the sun at this point, searingly hot, from a combination of embarrassment, arousal, and the stage lights. Jesse doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, as he’s forcibly turning Hanzo to face him, in all of his topless, sweaty glory.

“What’s your name, sugar?” Hanzo is momentarily confused, because he’d told him his name before, and is about to say so when Jesse amends his question, “the crowd would like to know.” He punctuates it with a wink that makes the shorter man’s knees a little weak. He feels dwarfed next to these two men, who are both over six feet, and he’s a few inches short of that mark. Hanzo’s self-consciousness burrows deeper into his thought processes.

“Hanzo,” he gruffly responds into the microphone, embarrassment coloring his cheeks a ruddy pink. He wasn’t expecting a few people in the crowd to holler at him, whistling, calling out compliments. ‘He sounds sexy,’ one says. ‘Nice ass,’ shouts another. ‘I want a ride!' Yells yet another. Hanzo wrinkles his nose at their catcalls. These people are _filthy_ and, even with an attractive man offering to give him a lap dance, he is regretting being dragged here tonight more and more.

“Well, Hanzo, baby, lemme tell you what I’m goin’ to do to ya,” his voice has dropped an octave, causing goosebumps to burst forth on Hanzo’s arms. His stomach flips like an Olympic gymnast. “I’m gon’ sit ya down right here,” he’s being shoved back by a strong hand on his chest, and he falls onto a folding chair set up in center stage that he hadn’t noticed being set up by the announcer from before, who is behind him with both hands on the back of the chair. Hanzo tilts his head up to see the blond man above him, giving him a grin and a wink, before his head is being forced back down by Jesse’s hand, those amber eyes on him again. They’re dark with desire. Hanzo shivers expectantly.

“Then, when the music comes on, I’m gon’ give you the ride of yer life. Only catch is, you can look but you can’t touch. Sound good, sugar?” Hanzo cannot speak, only nodding enthusiastically as Jesse gives the mic on over to the other man on stage. Even though he is slightly disappointed that he cannot touch Jesse, he is more than willing to be at his mercy. He has no idea what he’s getting himself into, but if it includes Jesse’s hands on him, all over him, he doesn’t think he’ll mind anything he’s subjected to at all.

The lights dim to a dark blue, casting shadows across ‘Magic McCree’s face hauntingly. Hanzo grips the cold metal of the chair under him in an effort to ground himself, to prepare for what’s to come. The music starts overhead, with a bass that thrums through the ground into Hanzo’s core. Jesse stalks around him, dragging his hand along Hanzo’s shoulder, gracing his neck with his fingertips, up to tug on his ponytail. Hanzo gasps as he’s yanked backwards so he has to look at Jesse, who is smirking sultrily at him, the other hand cupping his jaw. He feels the pad of the cowboy’s thumb brush his lower lip and he shakes, eager for more. Jesse lets go of him, continuing to drag his hands along his person, though they retreat as the lyrics start overhead.

_I'm just a bachelor, looking for a partner. Someone who knows how to ride, without even falling off._

Jesse circles around to stand in front of Hanzo, staring at him from underneath hooded eyes, before he drops to his knees in front of the shorter man. He drags his big hands along Hanzo’s thighs, down to his knees, which are practically locked together, and he forces them open with strength that Hanzo is unused to being handled with. The gasp that rips out of his throat was barely audible to anyone other than Jesse, whose smirk has grown into a full on grin at the knowledge that he affects Hanzo so much. His hands go back up, trailing along his inner thighs this time. He gets dangerously close to the front of Hanzo’s slacks, which are noticeably strained, before he pulls his touch away entirely, leaving the seated man unsatisfied.

_Gotta be compatible, takes me to my limits. Girl when I break you off, I promise that you won't want to get off._

Hanzo grits his teeth, his hold on the chair tightening as Jesse stands, the crowd egging him on with wolf-whistles and cheers. Jesse is going to straddle his lap, powerful thighs on either side of his legs, and those muscled arms rest on his shoulders while he hovers above his legs. That chest is dangerously close to his face. Hanzo’s erection is throbbing in his pants, and desire colors every quiet swear he lets out under his breath. Jesse is gorgeous, attractive, _right there in front of him_ , and so unattainable. He wants to touch him, to run his hands down that hairy chest, to pop the button on those trousers, drag them down and-

_If you're horny let’s do it, ride it, my pony. My saddle's waiting, come and jump on it._

His thought process fizzles out as Jesse begins to roll his hips tantalizingly, not even touching Hanzo’s groin. He watches the movement with wide eyes, biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. This is surely purgatory, because he’s being exposed to something absolutely heavenly, but he doesn’t even get to touch, _grope, squeeze, grab, scratch,_ like he wants to, which is torture in and of itself. Jesse’s eyes never leave his expression.

_If you're horny let’s do it, ride it, my pony. My saddle's waiting, come and jump on it._

It’s like it’s only the two of them on that stage, as Jesse’s hips inch closer and closer to his own. Hanzo can feel the heat radiating off of the other’s chest, wanting nothing more than to tip his head forward and _bite_ those pectorals, to mark that tan skin with bruises, purple and red and angry under his teeth, tongue, lips. The cowboy has moved one arm up to hold his Stetson in place, and then his hips are down completely, pressing against his thighs, and their crotches align. Delectable friction sends a ‘zing’ up Hanzo’s spine as he feels a tell-tale thickness slot against his own. He throws his head back with a pained groan as that satisfactory friction abandons him and Jesse gets off of his lap. _Tease_.

_Sitting here flossing, peepin' your steelo. Just once if I have the chance… The things I would do to you._

He doesn’t have to lament over the lack of Jesse’s presence for long, as he suddenly has a lap full of cowboy again, only, this time, his back is to him. Jesse faces the crowd, his legs spread wide while he grinds his ass back into Hanzo, dragging the tight globes up and down the strained tent of his slacks. His head lolls to the side, breath coming out in ragged pants as he abandons his grip on the chair to dig his nails into his palm instead. Forget voyeurism, that was far less kinky than being into being watched by a _crowd_ of people who were none the wiser to his state of dishevelment. Truly, the only people in the room who were aware that he was hard and aching were himself and ‘Magic McCree’, the latter of which was taking his time teasing his erection with every gyration of his hips.

_You and your body, every single portion send chills up and down your spine, juice flowing down your thigh._

Jesse stands once more, turning to face Hanzo with a greedy look on his face. The shorter man’s eyes flutter open, looking at the cowboy with annoyance evident in his eyes. Jesse pays it no mind, his hand fisting in the other’s shirt to haul him up and off the chair before he flips their positions, sitting back on the metal and dragging him down to sit on the cowboy’s lap. Hanzo gapes at him, even as the crowd behind them starts to scream their approval, a few people shouting for Hanzo to ‘take it off’. This is the last thing he expected when he’d been dragged to this club in the first place, and he’s sure his brother is part of the people goading him on. He knows he is when he hears garbled Japanese from somewhere within the throng of people. Hanzo isn’t sure where to put his hands, especially since he was forbidden to touch, but Jesse takes care of that for him by collecting both hands in one of his big ones, the other one getting a full handful of his ass. The shorter man’s brows furrow in confusion, before the cowboy yanks him down to whisper in his ear. “Lean back, baby, let’s give these people a show.” He shivers and complies. How could he not, what with that raspy, arousal-laden tone?

_If you're horny let’s do it, ride it, my pony. My saddle's waiting, come and jump on it._

Hanzo tips backwards, staring at the crowd upside-down, as Jesse begins to drag Hanzo forward to meet the roll of his hips. The cowboy’s grip on him is delightfully strong, his hands so warm and _big_ , and it seems as though the stereotype about what comes with big hands is true, if what he feels through those slacks is real and not a byproduct of over-imagination caused by almost-painful arousal. The most important part of their grinding is the fact that Hanzo, through the fog of desire, notices that he’s not the only one that is sporting an erection. Jesse seems to be just as into this, _into him_ , as Hanzo is. The fact is more than enough to get Hanzo to reciprocate, his hips stuttering slightly as he grinds down. He swears he can hear Jesse’s sharp intake of breath, and the tightening of the hand on his ass. He likes it.

_If you're horny let’s do it, ride it, my pony. My saddle's waiting, come and jump on it._

It’s easy to lose himself to this performance, to the routine, especially when the _friction_ is so good, and Jesse is taking control of it all. He can almost forget the hundreds of people watching them, his brother and company included. Except for the fact that people are still shouting, screaming, throwing money at the two of them. People are still begging him to take off his clothing, and he wants to, somehow. Not for them, no, he wants to expose himself to the man he’s currently seated on, to show him the dragon tattoo curling around his arm, the piercings he has in his nipples that he got as an act of defiance in his early twenties after leaving his repressive family behind. He wants to give in, to get rid of the barrier of clothing between the two of them, and to get absolutely _wrecked_ , to wreck him, until he can’t think of anything other than _Jesse_ . He wonders if the cowboy can hear his thoughts, because he’s suddenly chest down on the stage, and Jesse’s hands are on the ground on either side of his head, and he cannot _breathe_ through the arousal thick in his throat. The crowd all gasps, and he hears Genji’s voice get louder, a constant mantra of “holy shit!” in both languages. Hanzo stares out into the crowd blearily, blinded by tears of overstimulation and the stage lights shining closer to him than before.

_If we're gonna get nasty baby… First we'll show and tell…_

Jesse presses his hips to the cleft of Hanzo’s ass through his trousers, and the man shivers with delight. Hanzo feels one of Jesse’s hands press against his back, rucking his shirt up as the appendage drags slowly upward. The silk slides against his overheated skin like a blessing. The cold air hits his lower back as it’s exposed. Jesse’s big, hot hand graces the back of his neck, then through his hair, mussing the strands and pulling a few from the hair pulled up on his head.

_Till' I reach your ponytail, oh._

Hanzo lets out a cry of pained pleasure as Jesse’s hand grabs his ponytail and yanks him backward, back bending while the cowboy grinds his erection into his backside. The crowd _screams_ , Hanzo moans, and Genji is telling him in their native tongue to “get it, brother! Get it!!”. He grinds back against Jesse, and he swears loudly enough for Hanzo to hear. He loves it.

 _Lurk all over and through you baby, until we reach the stream. You'll be on my jockey team, oh_.

Jesse turns Hanzo over to face him, and his grin is blinding, Hanzo can barely see him, but, _oh god_ , can he feel him. Those hips are slotting against his again, and Hanzo throws his head back with a loud moan, and the throng of people sound far away in his ears. He grinds back against ‘Magic McCree’, gasping with delight, and he wants Jesse to never look away from him. He has a feeling he wouldn’t be opposed to ripping their clothes off and going at it right then and there, on the stage, in front of hundreds of people. Then the presence of his brother slaps him in the face and he immediately amends that thought, desperately not wanting to do that. Ever. But he does feel the need to get somewhere private _right now_. But Jesse seems like he has no desire to stop the routine early, if the constant roll of his hips is any indication.

_If you're horny let’s do it, ride it, my pony. My saddle's waiting, come and jump on it._

Hanzo feels so _hard_ , he’s throbbing in his slacks, and he’s sure there would be a tell-tale wet patch if his slacks weren’t black. Jesse pushes forward on his knees, sliding up Hanzo’s body until his crotch is close to Hanzo’s face. The shorter man gasps, the scent of arousal smacking him in the face from up this close. Jesse’s on his knees only now, and Hanzo can’t see his face. But he can see the bulge tenting the trousers he has on, and he wants to see what it looks like underneath the fabric. He wants to kiss, suck, to swallow it all down, feel it throb in his mouth, spill across his tongue, down his throat, needs to be _used_ thoroughly, in private, away from prying eyes and he _wants it, needs it, so so so so badly_ , _please_. Jesse groans wantonly when Hanzo leans up to press his mouth against the bulge, mouthing at it through the trousers.

_If you're horny let’s do it, ride it, my pony. My saddle’s waiting, come and jump on it._

Jesse moves back down his body quickly and Hanzo is momentarily worried that he’s crossed the line, touched when he was not supposed to, but the heady desire he sees in Jesse’s amber eyes as he’s hauled up by the collar of his shirt is more than enough to soothe his worries. Hanzo is gasping, and would likely be visibly red if the lights weren’t the deep blue hue that they were. Jesse twists him around to face the crowd and hoists him up by his hips, which Hanzo lets out an ungraceful squawk at, arms coming up instinctively to wrap around Jesse’s neck from behind. The cowboy’s hands go from his hips down to the back of his knees, bending and spreading them to expose him to the crowd.

_If you're horny let’s do it, ride it, my pony. My saddle's waiting, come and jump on it._

Hanzo wants to hide, desperately, even as the club-goers all shout and whistle appreciatively. He’s not used to being put on display like this, and he’s not sure how he feels, because Jesse has been working him up for what feels like hours now, though it’s only been a few minutes now. He throws his head to the side as Jesse ruts into his backside, and Hanzo trembles. The people sound far away still. Jesse’s breath is on his neck, near his ear, he wants to _sob_ . He needs it to end so he can drag Jesse away and _ravage him_.

_If you're horny let’s do it, ride it, my pony. My saddle's waiting, come and jump on it._

He can hear the song winding down and he can’t stop shaking, even as Jesse lets his feet hit the ground, and the shaking intensifies as he’s bent in half, one of Jesse’s hands gripping his hip with a vice grip and the other wrapped in his ponytail again. It _hurts_ , it feels so _good_ , he cries out and bites his lip to try and dampen any other noise threatening to bubble forth from his throat. Jesse pulls him back to grind eagerly into the cleft of his ass and he wants nothing more than to be somewhere private, with far less clothes, absolutely _fucked_ and _full_.

_If you're horny let’s do it, ride it, my pony. My saddle's waiting, come and jump on it._

Jesse manhandles him up, grabbing his jaw with one hand and popping the buttons of his shirt open with the other, until the silk falls open and his overheated chest is exposed. He’s not lithe by any means, no, and the crowd begins to praise him with filthy comments that go in one ear and out the other, only the whispered compliment that Jesse gives him sticks. “So pretty,” he mumbles, the pads of his calloused fingers pressing against his heaving chest, and then the entirety of his palm, before he drags it down towards the waistband of his pants, which he toys with for a moment. Hanzo keens low in his throat.

_If you're horny let’s do it, ride it, my pony. My saddle's waiting, come and jump on it. Ride it, saddles._

Jesse lets his hand settle over the bulge in Hanzo’s pants, light and teasing, and the shorter man cannot help but jerk forward, though Jesse gives him no friction to grind against. The song fades out above them and the lights change from blue back to their normal color. The crowd cheers and throws cash onto the stage, and Hanzo is dizzy from everything that’s happened in the past few minutes, his chest heaving with exertion. Jesse seems no better, seeing as he can feel the man’s breath rustle his hair with every exhale. The cowboy seems hesitant to take his hands off of Hanzo, but he does anyways, and the shorter man feels like he might collapse from the sudden lack of contact. He wants to lean into Jesse, or haul him in for a kiss, do _something_ , but he knows he shouldn’t, not with the eyes on them.

That blond announcer comes back on stage, looking slightly irritated, though his voice doesn’t give it away when he thanks the crowd for coming and asks them to continue to enjoy the night. The lights on center stage turn off, and the club-goers disperse back to the bar, the smaller stages, the various love seats, all loud and energized after that performance. Hanzo is thankful for it, as he turns to demand that Jesse take him somewhere private, but he’s stopped by the sight of the announcer stomping over to them, and the cowboy’s guilty grin.

The man leans forward into Jesse’s space, growling his words almost too low for Hanzo to hear, but he’s always had good ears. “What the hell was that, Jesse? We pay you to dance and strip, not to almost _fuck_ a customer on stage!” The cowboy pouts, extending one arm to wrap around Hanzo’s waist and tug him over to press against his side. He wants to melt against him, but resists, seeing as the announcer was still fuming. “You better have a damn good reason for this, Jesse!”

He laughs and gestures to the floor with the hand not rubbing soothing circles into Hanzo’s hip bone, “do you see the amount of cash that act raked in? ‘Sides, my angel here’s hotter than the Devil himself, if y’haven’t noticed.” Jesse looks proud, standing up straight and pointing at Hanzo, is rather confused at being called ‘my angel’. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

The blond gave him a look, narrowed eyes glancing from the money littering the stage to Hanzo to Jesse, until, finally, he sighs, the sound full of reluctance. “Fine, you’re right, it brought in a lot of money, and this man you brought up with you _is_ very attractive. Just, try to tone it down if you ever do it again, okay? Gabe and I are running a strip joint, not a whorehouse.” He toes a twenty on the ground with the tip of one cobalt boot before sliding his eyes, which are of a similar hue, over to Hanzo. His lips quirk into a smile, eyes calculative.

“You looked great up there, kid. If you ever want to rent a space, let me know. Name’s Jack Morrison, I own this place with my husband, Gabe Reyes. He’s the bartender, I handle the men.” He barks out a laugh, running a hand through his hair with a wink. “Of course I do, I’m gay. Anyways, tell Jesse if you ever want to come back. Not as a customer, as a dancer. Now get out of here, you two. Can I assume you’re not coming in tomorrow, Jesse?”

The cowboy gives him a two-fingered salute, grinning lasciviously, “aye aye, commander. Should be bed-ridden with a cold,” he snorts, his hand sliding up along Hanzo’s side to tease his skin under his silk shirt, “or, I guess you could call it a heat, huh?”

Jack snickers at that, turning to head to the backstage, before calling over his shoulder, “well, you’ve always been a bitch. Have fun kids.”

Hanzo stares at the retreating back, confused, his arousal waning with every passing minute. Especially now that he wasn’t being watched and Jesse wasn’t grinding on him. Speaking of, the man in question turns to face him, taking his chin between his thumb and forefinger, dragging the pad of his rough thumb along Hanzo’s bottom lip and drawing a small gasp from his throat. The way he’s looking at him, so appreciative and hungry, has Hanzo shivering again. “Well, darlin’, I do have to say, y’did look pretty fucking amazin’ out there. So pliant, so willin’,” Jesse breathes out a sigh of delight, leaning down to press a wet kiss to his cheek, “so _sexy_ , and that’s comin’ from a man whose job it is to be sexy. Now, I meant what I said earlier, ‘bout wantin’ to get to know ya better, and, I think we’ve gotten puh-retty well acquainted jus’ now. So, how about I do the other thing that I said?”

Hanzo blinks blearily, looking at an expectant Jesse through confused eyes, his brows knitted together. “And, what would that be?” His question is raspy, his throat slightly raw from crying out earlier. Jesse leans down a bit, brushing his nose along Hanzo’s, as they’re hidden in the shadows of center stage and don’t have to worry too much about prying eyes. His gaze is still on the shorter man’s, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

“Takin’ care of that dry spell o’ yours, baby.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The drive to Jesse’s nearby apartment is filled with Hanzo’s light gasps, as Jesse’s hand rests on his thigh and rubs teasing circles into his skin trousers. Hanzo hadn’t even stopped to say goodbye to Genji, or tell him where he was going, but, if his brother had watched the performance at all (which he knows he had), he probably knew where he was going. Jesse chuckled at his eagerness to get out of there at first, but, with one look at Hanzo’s stern glare and slightly tented pants, he’d stopped to hurry them out of the strip club and onto the road.

They parked, raced over to Jesse’s apartment, and, soon, the door was shut and locked behind the both of them, and Hanzo was pressed against it, Jesse’s lips meeting his _finally_.

The initial contact is chaste, with a little pressure behind the press of their mouths, and then they’re trying to devour each other, mouths open and tongues tangling. Hanzo wraps his arms around Jesse’s shoulders, keeping him pressed down against him, and Jesse is propped against the wall with one arm, while the other is occupied with reaching down to grab at the back of Hanzo’s leg to pull it up. The shorter man eagerly wraps his leg around Jesse’s waist, itching to get closer, and is more than willing to do the same with the other leg when the cowboy tugs at it next. Then, those hands are on his ass, keeping him suspended up while kneading his fingers into the flesh. Hanzo has to pull away from those lips to gasp some air into his lungs.

Jesse takes the opportunity to slide his lips along Hanzo’s jaw, down to his neck, to nibble marks into the pale expanse of his skin. The shorter man’s fingers scrabble against his back, eyes fluttering closed as a moan rolls past his lips. Jesse chuckles against his neck, pulling him closer, before he’s pushing himself away from the door to carry him over towards the bedroom door.

The journey to Jesse’s bedroom involves the two of them frequently stopping to shed clothes. First the shoes abandoned in the entryway, then Hanzo’s shirt tossed over a lampshade, along with Jesse’s plaid button down, next were the belts around both of their hips, and socks too, until they’re both shirtless and flopped down on the bed, messily kissing and groping each other. Hanzo is below Jesse on the bed, their hips slotted together and lazily, haphazardly moving, a sharp contrast to the way they’d danced around each other at the strip club. Jesse gives a few short, sharp thrusts, Hanzo throwing his head back to breathe the cowboy’s name into the air as he scratches thin lines across his muscled back.

“So sensitive,” he mumbles, amusement coloring his voice, and Hanzo has half a mind to berate him, before Jesse is leaning down to kiss at his chest, fingers finding one of his pierced nipples and giving it a gentle twist. Jesse seems momentarily surprised to find metal there, though the surprise shifts into desire not a moment later. “I like these,” he mentions appreciatively, giving it another twist. The shorter man gasps, just as sensitive as Jesse said he was, and presses his hips up to grind harder into the other’s hardness. His partner enveloped the other nub with his mouth, drawing a shout from his lips, as Hanzo fists one hand in the man’s wild locks. He doesn’t want to be so violently responsive but he can’t help it. The time between now and his last encounter was embarrassingly long, more than he was wont to admit. Not that it seemed to bother Jesse, who was enthusiastically teasing his nipples into stiff peaks. When he finally pulls away, Hanzo hauls him up for a kiss, feeling their scruff rubbing against each other.

Jesse pulls back to sit up, staring down at Hanzo with hooded, dark eyes. His smile grows with every second that passes, Hanzo propping himself up to glare at Jesse. He knows he looks like a wreck, lips kiss bruised and wet, hair mussed and falling out of the ponytail he’d put it into, and that every place where Jesse had nipped was starting to sport the beginnings of tell-tale hickeys, but he didn’t think it warranted just being stared at. When the silence stretched too long, he took it upon himself to figure out what was going on.

“What is it, Jesse?” His voice doesn’t have as much bite as he wants, and he knows it, but he was _trying_ , damn it, there was only so much he could do when he was being ravished. The cowboy gives a little half-shrug, nonchalantly popping the button on his trousers, chaps left with his stuff back at the strip club. He looks like he wants to say something still, and Hanzo isn’t one to not communicate with his partners, no matter how long it’d been. “Tell me?” He pleads, sitting up fully and wrapping his arms around the taller man’s shoulders. Jesse seems to melt a bit underneath his domestic touch, leaning into him and stealing a kiss before he responds.

“Jus’, y’know, you’re literally the prettiest person I’ve ever had the pleasure of meetin’. Can’t believe I got someone like you to come home with me, honestly. Woulda thought you wouldn’t’a been into lil’ ol’ me,” he admits, kissing down Hanzo’s neck towards his pectorals once more. He has a distinct feeling that Jesse likes his thick pectoral muscles, if the way he laves attention on them is any indication. He doesn’t linger there long, dragging his lips further down towards his abdomen, still speaking between kisses and bites.

“Been a while since I brought someone home with me,” he admits, dipping his tongue into the valleys of Hanzo’s abdomen, “haven’t taken a fancy to anyone in a bit. But you, oh angel, you’re something else,” Jesse’s hands are fiddling with the button on his slacks, gracing the tent of his jeans with brief touches that have Hanzo jerking forward for some desired friction, “I’m luckier than a horseshoe crab with a four-leaf clover, darlin’.” His voice is soft, dripping with affection, and Hanzo finds himself reciprocating the admittance that Jesse gave him after a few steadying breaths.

“It is the same for me,” he mumbles, watching as Jesse jerks his head up to lock eyes with Hanzo. His position isn’t conducive to this type of conversation, Hanzo decides, as he reaches down and hauls Jesse back up his body with a hand curled around the back of his neck. Those amber eyes on him are shining. Those lips are parted in a soft smile, the barest hint of teeth showing. There are crinkles on the corner of his eyes. Hanzo wants to see this face more often, he decides, his thumb stroking Jesse’s pulse point. “I have not been with someone intimately in a very long time. It surprises me that you would take one such as I to your home.”

Jesse brushes the back of his hand against Hanzo’s cheek, those eyes on his still. Even in the dark of the room, he can see _something_ in those amber eyes, something he _likes_ , something he’s _scared_ of. “Why’re you surprised, sugar?”

Hanzo takes a stuttering breath, carding his fingers into Jesse’s oaken locks. He likes the way Jesse leans into the touch, his smile widening, relaxing under his fingers. He could get used to this, get addicted to this type of relationship if he’s not careful. “Well, I am not exactly young,” Hanzo says bitterly, woefully aware of his age. He figured that Jesse would want someone younger, more spry, more flexible under his big hands. The thought shoots a spike of cold envy through his bloodstream.

The bark of laughter that Jesse gives surprises him, the cowboy throwing his head back for a moment before dropping his head down to rest on Hanzo’s shoulder. “Oh baby, you say that like I’m in my twenties. I’m almost forty, Hanzo, you think I want someone young? No, I like someone with a lil’ more _worldly_ experience,” his tone drips with innuendo, “and you caught my eye immediately. Bumpin’ into you at the bar wasn’t an accident, y’know.” Hanzo rolls his eyes, figuring as much, not that he’s mad about it at all. Jesse tilts his head and leaves a kiss on one of the marks he’d been making earlier, drawing a shuddering breath from Hanzo’s lungs.

“Why don’t you let me show you how much _worldly_ experience I have, then?” Hanzo suggests, dragging his blunt nails down Jesse’s back, leaving raised red lines on the tan skin. The cowboy shudders in anticipation, one of his big hands dragging down Hanzo’s chest to settle on his hipbone, while he props himself up with the other arm to better look at the shorter man. Hanzo smirks, desire evident in the curve of his reddened lips, and Jesse seems helpless to resist, bending down to capture those lips with his own and start their dance again.

Hanzo gets to work on his slacks, popping the button and struggling with the zipper for a moment before he finally gets it down, lessening the pressure on his erection, which is tenting his grey boxers. Jesse’s hand abandons his hip to unzip his own trousers, a soft sigh breathed against Hanzo’s lips as he pulls back for a moment. He gives the shorter man a soft look before he sits up, moving to get off the bed. Hanzo props himself up, confused, before he realizes that Jesse is only shucking his pants, and the thin underwear beneath them. He admire the way those back muscles move in the moonlight streaming in through the window, a happy sigh escaping him as he watched Jesse rummage around in the bedside table to retrieve a bottle of lube. Hanzo eyes the bottle, nervousness pooling in his stomach. It has been… a long time.

Jesse turns back to face him, erect cock arching up towards his stomach, and Hanzo has the chance to drink him in. He’s very _muscular_ , which, Hanzo guesses, he has to be considering his profession. Stripping is not easy, no, and it requires a lot of strength, that Jesse has an abundance of. It shows in the washboard of his hairy abdomen, and the curvature of his biceps and forearms. Hanzo is more than eager to feel the other man pin him down and _take_. Jesse takes a few sauntering steps over, climbing up on the bed again, though he remains perched on his knees and not on top of Hanzo, which is definitely a problem.

“Wanna take off those pants, babe? I wanna get a look at the pretty prick that I’ve been feelin’ for a while now,” Jesse says, his voice thick with arousal. Hanzo nods enthusiastically, a bit embarrassed when he realizes that he should have been discarding his pants when Jesse had been. He is quick to throw his trousers and undergarments to the side, leaving him naked in bed with his throbbing anatomy exposed to the cool air. He is not very long, average length, but he was slightly thicker than average, and his cock was uncut, protruding from a trimmed nest of ebony curls. Jesse made an appreciative noise in the back of his throat, moving to straddle Hanzo and press their erections together.

Hanzo groans, feeling something akin to metal along his shaft, and raises his hand to stop Jesse. The man halts immediately, backing away from him for a moment. “Somethin’ wrong, sugar?” There’s a nervous lilt to his voice, and Hanzo regrets stopping him, before he realizes he needs to confirm his slight suspicion.

“No, I just,” Hanzo sits up and grabs Jesse’s cock with an uncoordinated hand, Jesse sucking in a breath and jerking his hips forward. He palms the underside, feeling the roll of metal balls under his hand, and he echoes Jesse’s noise as realization dawns on him. “Piercings?” He squeaks out, toying with the top most one with his thumb and forefinger. Jesse keens, nodding jerkily in the dark.

“Yeah, got- _fucking yes_ , got six frenum piercings on the shaft, ah _shit,_ Hanzo,” his voice is breathy and Hanzo finds he enjoys driving this cowboy wild, as he wraps his hand around the shaft and jerks his hand up and down sloppily. It’s so thick and hot in his hand, and he knows it’s big too (that stereotype about big hands is true, apparently), what with how he’d been grinding on it earlier. Hanzo wants it, and Jesse seems more than willing to give it to him.

He shifts onto his knees, before shuffling backward so he’s on his chest, bringing him face to face with Jesse’s cock. The cowboy makes a noise of confusion, obviously not expecting this turn of events, even as his hand cards through Hanzo’s hair. The shorter man makes a noise, liking a strip up the underside of his partner’s cock, and drawing a low moan from the man above him. He wants to hear more of it. And, while he’s not given oral in a _very_ long time, he’s not opposed to the salty flavor pervading his senses as he tongues the slit, precum oozing from it in steady droplets. Jesse’s choked noise is accompanied by hands fisting in his hair, tugging a bit, and Hanzo letting out a sound of delight at the rough treatment. He opens his mouth and swallows down the thick, red tip, accepting it into his mouth with surprising ease.

Jesse groans, using his grip on Hanzo to guide him a little further onto his prick. Anything he couldn’t fit in his mouth, Hanzo stroked with his hand, twisting and tugging while he bobbed his head and hollowed his cheeks. Jesse praised him, petting his hair and rasping out compliments that had Hanzo’s face heating up more and more. He swallowed down as much of Jesse’s thickness as he could until his jaw began to hurt. Finally pulling away from the spit slicked cock, Hanzo dived down to instead toy with the frenum ladder, laving his tongue along the barbell jewelry to tease them, knowing how sensitive they are when Jesse’s words devolve into garbled sounds of pleasure.

Hanzo thinks he would be content with this, to just tease and suck Jesse to completion until he shoots all over his face, but Jesse has other plans, if the way he pushes at Hanzo’s shoulder is any indication. Pouting, liking his lips of pre and spit, he lets himself be pushed away and hauled up into a rough kiss. Jesse shoves his tongue past the seam of his lips, stroking the roof of his mouth roughly and lapping up the taste of him mixed with Hanzo.

The shorter man eagerly kisses back, letting himself be _ravaged_ , as Jesse leads him back to lay him down against the bed. He rolls his hip against Jesse’s thigh that is in between his legs, desperate for some friction, as Jesse steals his breath away. His desire is reaching an all-time high, especially when Jesse parts from him kiss and suck at the skin on his neck again, and he finally snaps. He needs to get to the main event, to reach the climax of this encounter, so to speak.

“Jesse,” he says through gritted teeth, grabbing at the other man’s shoulder and fisting a hand in his hair as well, and all he gets is a satisfied hum in response, until he yanks sharply on his hair to get him to pay attention. The cowboy yelps and pulls back, looking annoyed, and is about to open his mouth when Hanzo grabs his face and pulls him down to growl close to his ear.

“If you don’t get a move on and _fuck me_ , I will push you down, prepare myself, and use your body for my own pleasure,” he snarls, biting at his throat with sharp teeth. Jesse’s gasping breath is delightful to hear, though the growl that follows is even sweeter. Hanzo is even more delighted when Jesse shoves him down again, bouncing slightly against the bed. While his previous sexual encounters had always been so _vanilla_ , he’s finding he quite likes the treatment that Jesse’s giving him, treating him so roughly, and he’s spreading his legs immediately to accommodate Jesse’s mass as the man makes his home between them. He hands the cowboy the bottle of lubricant, watching, mesmerized as Jesse slicks up his thick fingers. The sight has Hanzo’s stomach flipping in nervous excitement, and he licks his lips as his partner reaches between them to press the tip of his index finger against his tight rim.

It’s been. A long time, and Hanzo has to force himself to relax as the tip of Jesse’s index finger breaches his hole. He lolls his head back, breathing heavily, focusing on the popcorn of the ceiling above him, as Jesse gently pushes his finger further in until it hits the last knuckle. He gets a chance to catch his breath and relax a little more, Jesse tracing his calloused fingertips along his abdomen, He whispers sweet nothings in his ear, the thick baritone of his voice soothing Hanzo enough that he gives a sharp nod, assenting that Jesse can continue. The cowboy starts to move his finger carefully, wiggling it around, spreading him open as best as he can, until he can slide a second thick digit in along with the first. He repeats his movements, adding scissoring to the mix, until he can squeeze in a third.

By the time the third finger is inside him, Hanzo is panting and rolling his hips down to meet them. He’s always liked the feeling of being penetrated, of being _full_ , and Jesse seems to know exactly what to do with his fingers to wrench noises from his throat. The cowboy curls his fingers in a particular area and a jolt of pleasure shoots up Hanzo’s spine like a live wire. The loudest sound of the night spills from his lips, and the look that Jesse gets in response starts as surprise and then morphs into mischievousness.

“Right there, huh, baby?” He purrs into Hanzo’s ear, angling his fingers to thrust them in and strike that spot once more. The live wire crackles and Hanzo lets out a stuttered yell, pushing back to ride against his fingers eagerly. Jesse tells him how pretty he is, how spread he is, and Hanzo’s face burns as he chases the pleasure that his partner is supplying, until, suddenly, those fingers are sliding out of him, leaving him gaping, panting, and unsatisfied.

He glares at Jesse, who gives him a cheeky smile, popping the cap on the bottle of lube and pouring a good amount on his hand. Hanzo drops the glare, turning around to set the pillows up where he could prop himself up on them, and lays back down, watching Jesse through hooded eyes as the cowboy thoroughly slicks himself up with lube. He licks his lips. Jesse watches the swipe of his tongue with a greedy look. He smirks in return.

Jesse surges forward and captures his lips in a deep kiss, distracting him momentarily as he goes to press the tip of his prick against his entrance. Hanzo lets out a soft sound, gripping Jesse’s arms and _shaking_ as the tip pushes beyond his rim. He’s reminded, once again, how _long_ it’s been, as a sting of pain hits him. And it should dampen his pleasure, really, but he finds he’s liking the slight burn of being stretched _so nicely_. Jesse distracts him well enough, alternating between kissing him and whispering praise against his skin.

“So good, baby, you’re so good, _tight as a vice_ , fuck, angel, oh _god_ , Hanzo, Hanzo, Hanzo,” he hears Jesse moan against his mouth, before he has a tongue thrust past his lips again, and Jesse is sinking further into him. The burn is pleasant, the stretch delightful, and he finds himself wanting _more_. Jesse bottoms out finally, their hips flush against each other, and Hanzo feeling delightfully full. He parts from the cowboy’s lips after a bite to his lower lip, dragging it with him for a moment before letting it go with a pop. Jesse is panting loudly, ragged little noises that Hanzo drinks up for a moment before he wraps his legs around the other’s waist, pulling him closer.

At first, Jesse is slow and careful, and Hanzo likes it, it’s… nice. Just enough stimulation, really, and he always enjoys feeling full like this. The cowboy kisses down his neck and along to the shoulder where his tattoo begins. Sinking his teeth into the skin, Jesse pulls his hips back a bit further, driving forward a little harder. The strength behind it is controlled, though, and Hanzo knows for a fact that Jesse can go harder. ‘Magic McCree’ has shown him on stage just how _hard_ he could go, and Hanzo wants _that_ pace. He rakes his fingernails along Jesse’s shoulders again, digging them into the muscle of his shoulder blades as Jesse gives him another slightly harder thrust. It’s _not enough_ , and Hanzo has to let Jesse know. His lips find their way to the cowboy’s ear and, after teasing the lobe between his teeth, he decides to tell Jesse just how he wants it.

“Give it to me, cowboy, show me what it feels like to be under those hips of yours,” Hanzo whispers, and Jesse groans at his sultry tone, giving a short, sharp thrust, “yes, but _harder_ ,” he punctuates the word with a roll of his own hips, “ _faster_ ,” another roll, and a desperate noise from Jesse’s throat, “ _deeper_ ,” yet another roll, and Jesse is already moving to pull his hips back to deliver what Hanzo needs, “fuck me like you _mean it_ , let me feel it, I want to think about it for days. _Ravish me,_ cowboy.”

The growl he gets in return, the snarl that graces Jesse’s lips, is so worth it, especially when the subsequent _hard_ thrust drives home, and he feels the bumps of those piercings roll inside him. He loves the brutal pace that Jesse sets, reducing him to a _mess_ under his touch, his thrusts. Hanzo’s nails dig in more, leaving half-moon indents along Jesse’s shoulders. The cowboy growls again, snapping his hips back so far that he slid out of Hanzo.

Suddenly empty, Hanzo whimpers, peering at Jesse from beneath thick lashes. He looks back at him before hauling him up by his shoulders and pushing him back down onto the bed, away from where the pillows had been propping him up. Hanzo stares up at him, confusion evident in his gaze. Jesse just grabs his legs, propping both ankles up on his shoulders, and sinks back into Hanzo without another thought. The full feeling comes back, sateing Hanzo for the moment, as Jesse bottoms out once more.

His partner doesn’t move for a long moment, just staring at him, at his hair fanned out around him, at his dribbling cock, and there’s a flash of something in his eyes that Hanzo can’t pick up on, before Jesse pushes his legs up a little farther and begins to fuck him again, fast and sharp thrusts angled _just right_ , and Hanzo can’t focus on what his partner could have possibly been thinking about. Not anymore, not when the head of the cock inside him strikes his prostate. At this point, he’s completely boneless, thoughtless, under Jesse’s hands. He’s at his mercy and he loves every second of it.

“Damn, Hanzo, angel, _baby_ , you’re so tight around me, fuck, you’re squeezing down on me so hard,” Jesse moans, his thrusts shifting from fast to slow, moving his hips in a circle as he fucks into Hanzo deep and hard, “if I didn’t know any better, oh god, I’d say you were a _slut_ ,” Hanzo’s eyes snap open and he arches his back, pushing down onto Jesse’s cock harder, “oh, yeah, you like that don’t’cha baby,” he rasps out, leaning even further into Hanzo and angling his hips _just right_ , before he begins to pummel that spot, “yeah, y’like how I tell you how much of a whore you are, and y’like bein’ treated like one too? God, fuck, I don’t know how anyone could possibly pass up the chance to take you home, _fuck_ , yer the best I’ve ever had.”

Hanzo presses the back of his hand to his mouth, throwing his head to the side and damn near _whimpering_ , the dirty talk starting to get to him. His cock is throbbing, laying untouched and hard on his abdomen, and every sinful word that fell from Jesse’s mouth was causing him to dribble even more pre into the valleys of his abs. His cowboy is unrelenting, milking his prostate, and continuing to call him filthy things, to praise him for his sensitive body and reactions, and Hanzo can feel his balls tighten with his pending release.

Unfortunately, like every good thing, it has to come to an end at some point. Hanzo is the first to fall off the precipice, muscles tensing as he clenches around Jesse, keeping him inside of him as he arches up and spurts thick ropes of cum over his abdomen, his chest, even managing to hit the bottom of his chin. The loud shout that rips from his throat will likely make him sound raspy for the next few days. Jesse drives him through it, shallowly thrusting inside of him until he finally starts to wind down. The cowboy moves to pull back but Hanzo won’t let him, dropping his legs from where they laid on his shoulders to wrap around his waist and hold him in place. The surprised look he gets is admittedly adorable.

“Inside me. I want you to cum inside me, Jesse,” Hanzo admits breathlessly, and that seems to be it for Jesse, who drops his head forward and drives back in to the hilt, spurts of wet heat painting Hanzo’s insides white. He groans happily, feeling boneless and satisfied finally, as Jesse collapses on top of him.

The pair lazily kiss as they wind down completely, the cum smeared between them cooling down and becoming sticky to the touch. Jesse is the first to move, slipping out of Hanzo’s abused hole and sitting up. Hanzo gazes at him with a soft smile playing on his lips, one brow cocked. Jesse shuffles off of the bed and lazily saunters over to the bathroom. Hanzo vaguely hears the sound of running water, already starting to doze off on Jesse’s bed. He jerks when there’s suddenly a soft, damp towel wiping off his abdomen. Hanzo mumbles a thank you, letting himself be cleaned off, and stays silent, wondering what he was supposed to do now. He had never had an one-night stand before. What happens next?

Well, apparently cuddling happens next, because, before he knows it, Jesse is back on the bed and he’s being wrapped up in big, strong arms, and his back is against Jesse’s chest. He lets out a noise of surprise, though it morphs into contentedness when Jesse noses his neck, lightly kissing at the skin there. Hanzo is steadily slipping into sleep, eyes sliding shut when he doesn’t try to fight them. The cowboy doesn’t seem far behind, if the deep breaths he’s taking are any indication. He manages to mumble a good night to Jesse before he slips into sleep’s embrace.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He awakes to an empty bed and an unfamiliar ceiling staring back at him.

Hanzo rolls over, trying to locate Jesse, but all he gets is more unfamiliarity and the sight of a messy room. He groans, damning himself for looking forward to waking up in the other man’s arms. Of course he wouldn’t be here, he probably left a note saying to get out quickly. Hanzo sits up, feeling grumpy, and gets out of bed, ignoring the twinge of pain in this lower back. He scoops a plaid shirt off the floor and puts it on, not knowing where his clothes had gone through the haze of last night’s events. He definitely remembered most everything that happened, but he’d be damned if he could find his clothes anywhere in the mess that was Jesse’s apartment.

He hobbles over to the restroom to wash his face and use the bathroom, ignoring his reflection. He knows he looks properly fucked and ravished, though he doesn’t want to think about it right now. No, he wants to get his clothes together and get out of here and forget this night ever happened. Hanzo felt stupid for getting his hopes up. Jesse was likely long gone by now, the number on his wrist was probably fake, and he had fallen for everything. For every pet name and sweet line and compliment. He was such an _idiot_.

Hanzo makes his way out of the bedroom, stepping over piles of clothes, and opens the door while grumbling in Japanese under his breath. He stomps down the hall, irritation evident in the way his brows are drawn together. He picks his clothes up as he goes, a belt here, a pair of socks there, and is about to grab at his button-down when the scent of cooked bacon hits his nostrils. He sniffs, more confused than before, and peeks his head out from where he was in the hallway. His eyes widen at the sight in front of him.

There, in the kitchen, was a topless Jesse, whistling while tending to a frying pan which held fluffy pancakes, two plates set off to one side with bacon and eggs already on them. There were also two mugs, both filled halfway with coffee. Hanzo’s irritation ebbs away as he realizes that he’d jumped to conclusions. Of course Jesse wouldn’t leave him here, alone in his apartment. He hadn’t found a note at all near him on the bed either. He’s suddenly ashamed, even though he’s the only one privy to his inner workings.

He steps out of the hall and hobbles over to the kitchen, feet hitting the cold tile with a soft ‘pap’. Jesse turns and glances over his shoulder, and his lips split into a huge grin. He turns back to his flapjacks, calling a greeting over his shoulder.

“Good morning, angel, did’ya sleep well? Didn’t do ya too hard last night, now did I?” Jesse chuckles under his breath, as Hanzo comes up to wrap his arms around his waist and press a kiss to one of the sets of scratch marks on his shoulder. The man relaxes into his touch, whistling shifting into soft humming. Hanzo kisses his other shoulder, humming a tune back.

“I’m makin’ us breakfast,” Jesse says, as if Hanzo can’t see that, though his tone stops Hanzo from making a sarcastic retort, “figured y’might wanna stay a bit. Maybe talk.”

Hanzo quirks a brow at that, even though Jesse can’t see him. “Talk?”

He hears a nervous chuckle escape Jesse as the man flips the pancakes on to the other side. “Ooh, perfect golden brown,” he says first, like he was trying to derail the conversation, though Hanzo won’t have it, giving him a warning bite on his shoulder. Jesse jerks under his teeth. “Ouch! Fine, fine, I wanted t’know if ya wanted to make this a _thing_ , y’know. Not just a one-night _thing_.” He sounds so nervous, like a schoolboy confessing his crush. It’s endearing.

Hanzo is dumbfounded and it takes him a moment to think of a reply, and, by that point, Jesse has already moved the pancakes to their respective plates and is fidgeting with his spatula, refusing to turn around. The shorter man chuckles and hides his smile in Jesse’s back.

 

“I’d like that.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> HOO BUDDY YOU MADE IT TO THE END!!! 
> 
> Thanks for joining me on this crazy ride with my favorite gunslinger and archer <3 though I guess neither of them are those things in this fic. OH WELL. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this fic!! I know I enjoyed writing it! If you liked it, please let me know, either here or on my tumblr! You guys keep me writing <3 . 
> 
> come pester me on tumblr at cawaiiey or twitter @cawaiiey_ !
> 
> THANKS FOR READING!!


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